


Draco Malfoy, Clothes Horse

by Musyc



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: Arguing, Clothing Kink, Draco Malfoy - character, F/M, Fashion & Couture, Hermione Granger - character, Humor, Movie Reference
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-02
Updated: 2011-12-02
Packaged: 2017-10-26 19:20:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/286966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Musyc/pseuds/Musyc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco likes clothes. <em>Really</em> likes clothes. Hermione doesn't quite get it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Draco Malfoy, Clothes Horse

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Crackers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crackers/gifts).



> I wrote this _years_ ago for a dear friend who'd had a bad day. Just a fun fluff piece based around Draco's apparent love for his black suit in the HP films. :D

"Granger. Granger. Granger. _Granger!_ "

Hermione put her head in her hands and stifled a groan. Draco's voice had finally reached that particularly grating and whingy tone that meant if she didn't answer him right away, he'd sulk for a week. He'd refuse to admit that anything was wrong, skulk around the house, snap at the cats, and blame her for his toast soldiers not standing to attention. Really, sometimes he could be such a _girl_.

Shoving up out of her chair and tossing her book onto the seat with a huff, she stomped to the dressing room and yanked the door open. " _What_ , Malfoy."

Draco eyed her in the mirror and pointed at his feet. "These boots. Do you think I should get a different style, or are the toes all right? Not too pointy?"

It took a lot of effort for her not to grab the ends of her hair and pull at the locks in frustration. "That's what you wanted? _That's_ what you wanted so badly that I had to lose my place in my book? For god's sake, Malfoy, you _know_ I don't know anything about fashion! Pointed toes, round toes, scalloped toes, they're all the same to me! Wear whatever you want!"

Staring at himself in the mirror, head tilted just an inch to one side, Draco gave a delicate shudder. "I know. I know you know absolutely nothing about style. I forgive you for it." His hands stroked down the placket of his shirt, plucking at the buttons. "At least one of us knows how to look good in well-tailored clothing. And I have to say, I look good. Very, very good." Slowly, his expression shifted into a familiar, wicked smile, and his hands dropped lower on his shirt. "God, I'm incredibly attractive, did you know?"

She was about to answer him with a snorted insult when she realized just _how_ low his stroking hands had dropped and just _what_ he was stroking. There weren't even words in the shriek of outrage she made, just a high-pitched and virulent scream. She spun on her heel, stormed out of the shop, and stalked straight home.

\---

He had a problem, he knew that. Fashion addiction, maybe he could call it. He couldn't seem to help it, though. Get him into a couture shop, get him around tailors and seamstresses, and he was lost. It was like waving a cigarette in front of a recovering smoker. The focus was total and instant.

It wasn't his fault. He was very clear about that, in his head. He'd been raised to dress properly, to always put his best foot forward. Even in school, he'd always kept his shirt tucked in and his tie straight. It was a sign of pride, that was all. "Pride!" he shouted, as he walked through the front door of the flat he shared with Granger.

"Prat!" came the answering shout from the bedroom. He followed Granger's voice and came to a dead halt in the door of the bedroom, his breath stopped in his chest. Every single article of clothing he owned was thrown over the bed, rumpled and wrinkled. His boots, his hand-made, custom-fitted, Italian-leather boots were in a pile on the floor, heels scuffing toes.

He was having a heart attack, he could sense it. He stared at his girlfriend, hoping to see a sign of insanity in her face that would explain why she was ruining his wardrobe, his eyes wild and his mouth opening without sound.

Granger was standing in front of his mirror, knotting one of his ties around her neck. Her reflection met his eyes and she gave a small shrug. "You know, I've tried on every single one of your shirts." Tugging at the hem of one of said shirts, she shrugged again. "I really don't get why they're so special."

She turned and clomped over to him, one of his boots on her left foot and one of his loafers on her right. "Tried the trousers on, too, but your legs are too long." Explained why she wasn't wearing _any_ trousers at all and Draco realized the ones he was wearing were uncomfortably tight at the vision of his wild-haired Granger in his favorite shirt and the way Granger's breasts were straining the buttons of his favorite shirt. He'd always _hated_ that shirt before, but it was definitely his favorite now.

He stepped into the bedroom, hands sliding around her waist. "You look good," he muttered, eyes following the length of his tie down her cleavage. "Very good. You're incredibly attractive, did you know?"

She smacked him in the chest. "Fine. I'll admit, this shirt feels rather nice. It's very soft." She picked up the end of the tie and stroked his cheek with it, then trailed the tip of the silk down his throat. He shivered when she crossed over a sensitive spot on his neck, and she laughed. "Is _this_ why you own more shirts than most of London combined? Your clothes turn you on?"

He fisted the shirt in both hands, yanking her close. "Maybe. But you've got no room to talk, Granger. I happen to know for a fact that every time I wear that black suit, you get this glint in your eyes and your knickers get so--" She cut him off with a rough kiss, both hands around his neck and the tie dangling over his shoulder.

\---

Hermione woke up with one hand hanging in space, thanks to the tie knotted around her wrist and the headboard. There was a belt buckle gouging her hip, it felt like a row of buttons was digging into the back of her knee, and her toes appeared to be tangled in a shoelace. If they'd slept on top of Draco's clothes, his whole wardrobe was going to need a steam-pressing.

A murmur came from beside her and Draco rolled over, his tie-wrapped arm sliding over her stomach. The sleeve of his shirt had separated from the rest at the shoulder, and she plucked a thread from his hair. Right, they'd done far more than _sleep_ on his wardrobe. He was going to have to get it professionally cleaned, what of it he didn't have to destroy.

She snuggled down into a nest of shirts and trousers, her free hand stroking Draco's hair in rhythm with his breathing. He was going to _whine_ when he woke up, she already knew that much. The sex had been worth it, though. She hadn't been aware he was that flexible. They'd probably go shopping that afternoon, she thought, to replace at least a couple of shirts, if not more.

Maybe she could talk him into wearing the black suit. She grinned to herself as she started to drowse. And maybe the tailor had a dressing room that locked.


End file.
